


You Like It Like This

by Huggle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dom Dean Winchester, M/M, Rough Sex, Sneaky Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 18:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6669136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huggle/pseuds/Huggle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's had a rough day.  He doesn't need Castiel showing up to lecture him.</p><p>Fortunately, Castiel knows what they both need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Like It Like This

It’s past 2am when Dean finally makes it back to the motel room. There isn’t a part of him that feels like it’s still put together right – he’s pretty sure he’s got bruised ribs, a twisted ankle and would put money on his right eye being swollen shut tomorrow – but he can walk and talk and think. Like pilots say – apparently, since he doesn’t plan on getting close enough to them or planes ever again to find out – any landing you can walk away from.

Any hunt you’re still breathing, not comatose, not bleeding out from and don’t have any open fractures at the end of....

But his mood is as foul as it’s ever been and he dumps his jacket on the floor before hobbling over to the kitchen counter. The bottle of whiskey is still there, courtesy of the ‘do not disturb’ sign he’d put over the handle – not the first time his booze has been lifted by the cleaning staff – and he uncaps it and pours himself two fingers.

Then another two, and another, relishing the sharpness of it as it goes down straight. It hits his belly and he swears he can start to feel the effect straight away – maybe not surprising. It’s been eight hours or more since he ate, at least thirty six since he slept and his body’s just begging for that one last thing to push him over the edge into unconsciousness.

He won’t go, though. Still has too much to do, too little time to do it in, and now that he’s doing this solo because Sam’s helping Ellen and Jo with a case in Boulder, there’s no one to watch his back. Sleep’s too much of a risk though he knows he’ll have to eventually. He’ll be back at Bobby’s in two days; he can catch up then when he knows he’s behind the best warded walls in existence.

Maybe.

He turns around, tumbler in hand, and drops it on the carpet when he sees Castiel standing there. Dean mutters a curse, glad it was one of those heavy based glasses. It’s not even chipped, but the whiskey’s already soaked into the carpet. 

“What the fuck do you want now?” He beds down to pick the glass up and rinses it off in the sink. He’s been in motels often enough to know not to walk on the carpets barefoot let alone anything else.

“You didn’t tell me you were hunting a Basilisk.”

“So? Sorry, forgot to tweet.”

“Dean.”

He knows before he turns around that Castiel’s right there behind him, so close that he isn’t sure he can turn around with bumping into the angel. He does turn anyway, sudden, kind of hoping he does bump him, catch him with a shoulder or an elbow. Of course, he’ll come off the worst, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

Castiel’s close, but not so close that Dean manages to make contact, and that just pisses him off all the more.

“What? Can’t you just talk like a person? You’re the one with the freaky angel mind reading trick. And you can knock that shit off while we’re on the subject. Anything I want you to know, I’ll tell you. Anything I don’t, I won’t.”

It’s crazy, but he wants to rile Castiel. Less than a handful of times has he seen Castiel get upset over something. And when he does, it barely registers on Dean’s hulkometer. He could be reading the news. The only thing that changes is the look. The way his stare gets more intent; sometimes it’s like he’s holding you up to the light, peering right into your centre. And sometimes it’s like he’s bringing some unknown pressure to bear, the weight of the years – the centuries or more – that he has on you, and the knowledge that maybe he’s cut off from Heaven but he can break you if he chooses to.

Dean doesn’t want to be the only person in this room so off kilter, ready to just tumble into a rage he isn’t sure he’ll come out of.

But Castiel doesn’t rise to it. He just stands there – just freaking stands there, and there’s the stare and Dean’s had enough.

He knows hitting Castiel with his fist is a bad fucking idea, so he shoves at him instead. And when Castiel lets him be pushed back, Dean feels something flood through him in a rush. So he does it again, and again, and than Castiel’s legs hit the bed and he ends up sitting on it, hands braced behind him.

The coat slips half off his shoulders and he’s staring at Dean like he’s waiting on something.

And fuck if Dean just hasn’t let himself be manipulated again.

“I hate you,” he manages, and then he’s pushing Cas back, nudging and pulling at him until he has the angel right where he wants him. He tangles his fingers in Castiel’s hair, tugging it back, exposing the length of that pale neck.

“Your actions suggest otherwise,” Cas says and he sounds so goddamn smug.

Dean bites him, teeth leaving a mark on his neck that he knows Castiel won’t heal on purpose. He still doesn’t get this – yeah, he knows that some people like a little rough and tumble and some people like a little more than that, but the first time he had to get physical with Castiel and realised the angel liked it....

It hadn’t even been about sex, more about hauling Castiel off that altar he was lying on, hands chained together, mouth taped up. Castiel had sort of flopped against him, and Dean had thought that was it, they’d been too late and Cas had taken serious damage. And then he’d felt how wrong he was, and ended up blushing for both of them, because that was some seriously inappropriate reaction from the angel there.

All because Dean had bodily lifted him off the altar, manhandled him – because he was never good at finesse and he had to know if Cas was okay, had to know right away – up against him. 

After that, it was like opening the floodgates. Dean’s reverential attitude towards Cas during sex got torn up by the angel and tossed out of the window. Trying to press him for an explanation got Dean nowhere fast, but he observed and reckoned that maybe – well, Cas was an angel. He was stronger than Dean, had more stamina than Dean – maybe it just took a little extra to get him there.

And Dean had never left a partner unsatisfied, so he learned fast.

He tears at the coat and the suit jacket and the shirt. Shoves them off of Castiel, scratching and bruising in the process. Castiel smirks a little and starts to slide out from under him, like he’s about to suggest they spend a quiet evening watching the TV instead.

Dean locks one hand around Castiel’s throat, and uses the other to pin his hip to the bed. “You don’t even think about moving. I’ll tell you where I want you.”

Castiel’s eyes go dark then, and his breathing goes fast and shallow, and Dean knows he’d better get a move on. It also takes a lot to keep up with an angel.

He has Castiel naked before too long, and shoves his legs apart, pushing at Castiel’s thighs until he has room to move. He’s never had to prep Cas, but he always checks before they get too far along – one day Cas is going to need prep. One day he’ll have to say no to all this because when he bites Castiel he won’t heal for days. When he fucks him this hard, Cas will be in agony afterwards, maybe torn. 

He’ll have to work around that unless Castiel’s preferences change along with his status. But that’s for then. This is now.

And Cas is still an angel, so Dean lines up and just shoves in. No opening him up, no foreplay. He sinks himself in and Castiel arches up like it hurts. Maybe it does. Maybe he’s letting it. Dean catches him before he can flop back to the bed, and pulls Castiel into his lap. He catches Castiel’s wrists behind his back, holds them there with one hand while his other arm supports the angel. Cas could free himself in a moment, but he doesn’t, and that shouldn’t turn Dean on like it does.

So he sets the pace, shoving up into Cas like they’re on a timer. He grunts and sweats and fucks Cas like he wants to leave him open and twitching afterwards, too sore to even think about moving. He wants to see Cas covered in sweat and come. He wants to see him lying there once they’re done, so well ridden that he can’t even think. He wants to see the hint of bruises to come on that pale skin, know he put them there, and know that Castiel let him.

“Dean,” Castiel says, and his voice is so low, so thready that Dean knows.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, Cas, I got you.”

Castiel’s always comes quietly. He doesn’t shout or moan. Dean thinks that because any sound he makes will be from his true self and Dean likes his ears intact and unbloodied, thank you very much. But just once, he’d like to see Cas so undone that his eyes flare and when he cries out as Dean makes him come it’s with the voice God gave him, not the one he borrowed.

Dean pushes a few more times and then finds his own release. He lets go of Castiel’s wrists, lowers him to the bed, and spends a moment stroking his fingers over sweat stained skin.

“You know we can have sex without you getting me all worked up,” he pants, slumping back into the angel’s arms.

Castiel kisses his temple and then closes his eyes. “Yes, but when you’re all worked up? You tend to put in more effort.”

Dean thumps him with a pillow and decides Castiel isn’t getting any more sex for at least two days.


End file.
